


Until Next Time

by heeroluva



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Deepthroating, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Large Cock, M/M, Manhandling, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Prostitution, Rimming, Rough Sex, Stomach Bulge, Transformation, Vampire Sex, Xeno, pre-canon meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-21 09:49:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16574210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: Geralt visits a different sort of brothel to blow off some steam and has an encounter that he's not likely to forget anytime soon.





	Until Next Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).



“Well, well, well. A witcher. We don’t often see your kind here.”

After three months in the country, the Ofieri words are still harsh on his ears, but his grasp of it is growing more each day. Geralt swallows his mouthful of ale and sets his mug down as he looks over at the man who’s sat down beside him. His dress is a deep purple and voluminous, his beard long, and his face heavily painted. “Don’t often find such accommodating institutions such as this.” His eyes drift around the establishment, taking in the scantily clad bodies. The number of men far exceeded the number of women.

“Where’s the fun in limiting yourself, I’ve always said. Monsieur Cecilia’s House of Delights has something for everyone. I do hope you enjoy your time here.”

When he offers his hand, Geralt raises it to his lips and presses a kiss against his knuckles. “Oh, I’m sure I will with you in charge.”

A wide smile stretches across Cecilia’s blood red lips as he takes a moment to study Geralt, head cocking to the side as though he’s contemplating a great riddle. “Now you’ve been sitting alone here alone for far too long. We can’t give the impression that you’re not satisfied. I wonder, are you the type seeking a pretty girl with a surprise between her legs?”

Before Geralt can voice an answer, Cecilia continues.

“No, no, that’s far too boring for one such as you. Oh, I see it now. You need a good hard dicking. I have just the man for the job. He’s rather picky, but I think he’ll eat you right up! Now be a dear and follow me. We’ll get you taken care of.”

Cecilia hops to his feet, skirts swaying as he easily weaves through the crowd. Geralt laughs softly, but rises to his feet and follows because Cecilia has certainly pegged him right.

They exit the main rooms and travel down a long hallway, stopping at the last door.

Cecilia unlocks it and gently urges Geralt in. “Have fun!” he says with a smile as he closes the door behind him.

The room is dark and empty, and Geralt jumps when the fire roars to life illuminating a dark-haired man sitting in a plush armchair at its side. Geralt is certain that this is no sorcerer, and more worrisome is the fact that his medallion remains motionless, while every instinct he has is screaming danger.

Quicker than Geralt can register the man is across the room, and he barely gets a look at him before his mouth captures Geralt’s in a hungry kiss.

Brain screaming to fight, his cock has other ideas, quickly thickening, growing to strain against the tight material of his trousers. Self-preservation be damned, Geralt moans and opens his mouth, welcoming the unknown man in. This is what he wants, what he needs, why he’s here. Drowning in the taste of him, Geralt slips one hand beneath the simple linen short the other wore, admiring the muscles he finds there, the other knotting in his dark hair, wanting him closer, but it’s not enough.

Geralt is by no means a small man, just barely shorter than his partner, so it’s a surprise when he finds himself hauled up, easily lifted and urged to wrap his legs around the man’s waist. They both groan as their hard cocks press together through the barrier of their clothing.

When the taste of blood explodes across Geralt’s taste buds, he draws back with a hiss, his tongue stinging.

Geralt swallows thickly as he meets the now shining silver eyes, as he watches the way his too long tongue slips out to lick first his own lips clean of blood then Geralt’s. His heart races as his cock throbs.

“What are you?”

The man’s face stretches into a smile revealing too sharp teeth. “I thought witchers were smarter than that.”

A wave of regret sweeps over Geralt as he finally lets himself remember his old friend Regis. “I thought high vampires avoided such close contact with humans.”

“It is my preference, but we don’t always have the luxury of such choice. I require a steady supply of blood, and my companion would prefer that I not leave a trail of bodies across the countryside.” His hands squeeze the thick mounds of Geralt’s ass cheeks where they rest against his palms. “And I will admit that I have found that there are perks to these encounters.”

“Is your employer aware of your… uh… nature?”

“Monsieur Cecilia is well aware of my needs. We have a mutually beneficial arrangement. I may come and go as I please, pick only those who interest me, and as I have no need of it, Monsieur Cecilia keeps all the gold.”

“Clearly you’re living the good life. Tell me your name.”

“You may call me Dettlaff.”

“Well, Dettlaff.” Geralt pausing rocking his hips, rubbing their cocks together, watching the way Dettlaff’s eyes flutter. “Haven’t you ever heard that it’s not polite to keep a man waiting?”

When Dettlaff’s eyes drop towards Geralt’s neck, his head bowing forward a moment later, Geralt tightens his fist in his hair and wrenches his head back up, drawing a snarl from him. “Not happening.”

“So you say now,” Dettlaff’s says, seemingly confident that Geralt will change his mind. He lets go of Geralt suddenly and pushes him to his knees.

Geralt goes eagerly, eying the bulge threatening to burst the laces of Dettlaff’s pants. His nostrils flare as he breathes deeply, taking in the scent of him, before he leans forward and mouths wetly across the column of cloth-covered flesh.

Dettlaff groans and hooks his fingers in the laces, shredding them in his need to free his cock.

Geralt’s mouth waters when it fall free, slapping wetly against his face. Geralt groans, and Dettlaff smirks, twisting his hip so it smacks him again. Reaching eager hands towards it, Geralt isn’t shocked that his fingers can’t even span the circumference. It’s easily the largest cock he’s ever seen, and now that he’s seen it, he has to have it.

Leaning forward, Geralt licks at the fluid dripping from the tip, savoring the salty taste and enjoying the way Dettlaff moans in response. He cups the heavy hairless balls he finds hanging beneath, imagining the huge load that they surely contained. He nuzzles at them before he starts to lave Dettlaff’s cock until it glistens with his saliva.

Wanting to test out of a theory, Geralt nips none-too-gently at the head of Dettlaff’s cock, and in response, Dettlaff’s hips surge forward, forcing the too large head of his cock into the heat of Geralt’s mouth.

They both groan, Dettlaff in pleasure, and Geralt in discomfort as his jaw pops suddenly, aching as his lips strain around the thick cock. Clearly having had enough of Geralt’s teasing, he snaps the leather tying Geralt’s hair back, and its white length falls free for a moment before Dettlaff knots his fingers through it and uses it as a handle to none-too-gently fuck Geralt’s face.

Geralt raises one hand to Dettlaff’s thick thigh and digs his fingers into the muscle, while his other reaches into his breeches and frees his aching cock, the length wet with precome. He fists his cock in time to the pace that Dettlaff uses his mouth.

When Dettlaff suddenly thrusts deeper, pushing down his throat, Geralt gags, but Dettlaff doesn’t stop. If anything his thrusts speed up as he sinks deeper and deeper into Geralt’s throat. Geralt’s eyes grow wet before tears begin to slowly fall from them as he continues to gag wetly, throat clicking lewdly with each long thrust.

Dettlaff pauses when he manages to sink his entire length down Geralt’s convulsing throat, fingers pressing suddenly at the bulge of it where it must be visible through his neck.

Releasing his cock, Geralt raises his other hand to Dettlaff’s thigh as well, his nose flaring where it’s pressed against Dettlaff’s flesh as his body protests the intrusion. Despite the discomfort, Geralt loves it. 

Starting up again, Dettlaff moves faster than ever, chasing his pleasure as he pulls Geralt’s head back and forth across his cock, his balls smacking against Geralt’s spit wet chin with every thrust. His lips feel swollen and hot, and he’s certain that they’re bruised, but that just makes him hotter.

When Dettlaff groans deeply, pulls back, and jacks his cock until it paints Geralt’s upturned face with come, Geralt comes untouched, balls pulling up as he shudders through his orgasm. Geralt is come drunk and dazed when Dettlaff shoves his still spurting cock back into still open mouth, but he drinks down his offerings eagerly.

There’s no warning as the world spins suddenly when Dettlaff easily tosses Geralt across the room onto the bed where he lands on his back with an oof. Getting the picture, Geralt shoves up his shirt, but Dettlaff is faster and shreds his clothes in an instance before rolling him over onto his stomach. “Hope you have another set—”

Geralt breaks off with a groan, fingers fisting the sheets beneath them when Dettlaff suddenly spreads his ass cheeks and covers his hole with his mouth. The first lick is devastating, and Geralt is certain he’s ruined for anyone else. “Fuck,” he hisses as he presses his hips back, wanting more. Dettlaff’s tongue moves like none he’s ever encountered before, laving at the tightly clenched rim guarding hole. “Your tongue is magic.”

When Dettlaff pulls back, Geralt groans in disappointment. “If you can still talk, I’m clearly doing something wrong.”

Geralt _doesn’t_ sob when Dettlaff’s mouth returns to him, when he hums against Geralt’s hole, when his thumbs spread Geralt wider so he can better taste him as his thick tongue delves inside. Cock fully hard again, Geralt tries to rut against the sheets, but Dettlaff’s hands stop him, pulling his hips up and away, forcing his knees beneath him, and Geralt can’t deny the sob of frustration that’s pulled from him this time.

Dettlaff chuckles against Geralt’s hole, and Geralt groans. Not having the brain power to respond with words, he kicks out instead, but Dettlaff easily stops the movement.

Geralt’s body trembles when Dettlaff’s tongue takes a moment to snake down and curl around his cock and ball, tasting him before he returns to his feast. When Dettlaff slides a finger into Geralt’s slick hole alongside his tongue, unerringly finding his prostate, Geralt comes again, shaking as he comes apart.

Geralt’s tongue feels thick in his mouth as he slurs, “Fuck me. Need your cock in me now.”

Dettlaff doesn’t protest, doesn’t tell Geralt that he’s not ready for him yet. Instead he slicks himself up and presses his cock against Geralt’s wet hole. They both groan at the contact, a sound that’s drawn out as Dettlaff slowly presses inside.

Teeth clenched, Geralt buries his face in the sheets, fingers knotting in them at the burn as his rim is forced to stretch too far with too little prep. Geralt relishes the pain, the reminder that he’s still alive, knowing that pleasure is soon to follow.

And follow it does. The pace that Dettlaff sets is excruciatingly slow, but he plays Geralt’s body as though it was his own, tweaking his nipples, fingers unerringly finding his sensitive spots, causing him to shiver. But, fuck, it’s not enough. He tries to push back, tries to urge him on, but Dettlaff is an unmoveable force and keeps up the slow steady pace that slides constantly across Geralt’s prostate. “Fuck, me harder, you bast—”

Dettlaff shoves his fingers into his Geralt’s mouth, cutting off his words, and Geralt bites down, tasting blood. For a moment, Geralt thinks he’s won as Dettlaff’s hip surge forward, driving him up the bed, but Dettlaff catches himself, and returns to the same slow deep rhythm. Geralt contents himself with sucking Dettlaff’s fingers, swirling his tongue around them.

It seems to go on forever when Dettlaff finally thrusts deep and shudders; Geralt can feel the heat of his release, the temperature near uncomfortable. Geralt’s own cock hangs, hard and leaking, his balls aching with denial.

When Dettlaff pulls out, Geralt hisses and groans as he reaches back towards his hole. His fingers slip in easily, his rim hot and swollen and dripping come. He was going to be feeling this for a few days.

Dettlaff flips Geralt onto his back abruptly, pulling his ass up so that it rests on Dettlaff’s kneeling thighs. He glances to the side, looking suddenly uncertain. “In such encounters as this, I’ve always had to hide my nature, but I had hoped…” Dettlaff trails off, his body changing, growing.

When wings sprout from Dettlaff’s back and eight inch talons appear to tip each finger, Geralt can no longer deny that this is probably one of the stupider things that he’s ever done. Yet despite the alienness of the form before him, a form that would cause most to shout “Monster!” upon sight, Geralt’s cock is still hard between his thighs, the tendrils of fear only adding to his arousal.

Dettlaff’s hair had vanished completely along with his eyes, yet Geralt had no doubt that Dettlaff could still see him. The most striking thing isn’t the strange color of his skin or the veins clearly through it or even the mouthful of fangs. No, what draws his attention is the cock that still rises from his middle, the way that it’s grown and transformed with the rest of him. Fool that he is, he wants it.

Geralt leans forward, caressing the length. “What’s that they say here? In for a penny, in for a pound.”

Dettlaff surges forward, pinning Geralt’s arms above his head with ease, and lines his slick cock up with Geralt’s still dripping hole.

Geralt shouts as the flared head abruptly pops inside, followed by rows of bumps that scrape across his prostate in a way that’s almost too much. Dettlaff is clearly done with slow and steady, any control he might have had clearly gone now as he wastes no times in settling himself balls deep within Geralt’s guts.

Dettlaff fucks him hard and quick, the bed smacking the wall loudly and threatening to shake apart. Geralt can’t do much more than lie there and take it, struggling to breathe as he’s used like he’s never been, hadn’t known he’d needed. The amazing thing though is that with each thrust, Dettlaff’s cock reaches so deep within him that his stomach bulges. It’s that sight that sets him off, shooting hard enough at first that it lands on his face, then his chest, most of it splattering against his stomach.

Geralt isn’t certain how many times he comes after that as Dettlaff keeps fucking him, maneuvering him as though he’s little more than a doll, until his hole and balls ache, his cock refusing to get hard. It’s only when sun begins to peak through the little window that Dettlaff shakes with his final orgasm, adding to already visible bulge that was once Geralt’s flat abdomen.

“You smell like mine.”

Geralt barely registers the words.

When Dettlaff’s fangs suddenly slide into the flesh of his neck, Geralt goes from half-conscious to fully aware in an instant. He tries to struggle, but Dettlaff’s easily holds him still, and fuck if the soft pull of blood from his body doesn’t heat his blood, the sudden haze of lust making him wonder why he wanted to fight at all. The orgasm when it hits is unlike any he’s ever had before, his cock soft, but he falls apart from the pleasure, melting to nothing.

When Geralt awakes, it’s dark out, he’s terribly thirsty, he has to piss, his body aches in strange places, the wound on his necks is already scarred over, and he’s totally alone.

Lighting the fire to be sure the room is empty, Geralt takes care of his needs, grudgingly giving Dettlaff points for at least cleaning him and the changing the sheets before he left. He eats the crusty bread and hard cheese set out on the table before his eyes find the letter peeking out beneath the plate.

Unfolding the paper, Geralt read: Until next time, witcher.

Despite knowing that it’s a terrible idea, Geralt’s cock immediately rises to the occasion, eager for another round. He’s also certain that they’ll meet again whether he wants to or not. “Fuck.”


End file.
